


The Place Where Wings Unfurl

by elrhiarhodan



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Amputee Merlin, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Wingfic, merlahad, not TGC compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22389592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: From the teaboy at the tailor shop to Arthur himself, every employee of Kingsman is Wing-Kin, semi-magical and quasi-human, gifted with raptor's wings and the ability to fly (at least if there's a good updraft and a high perch to throw yourself off of).  Merlin, who is almost more at home in the air than on the ground, can no longer fly, and he's not taking the loss well at all.
Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Merlin
Comments: 11
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Story is now posted complete

Today, Merlin takes the elevator; it's hard enough walking on level ground, he can't manage even a single stair without gasping from the pain.

Today, Merlin downs a few ibuprofen with his mid-morning tea instead of his favorite biscuits. It's either the painkillers or a bottle of Scotch. At this point, he doesn't care if the lining of his stomach will melt. Merlin is still Merlin and he needs to function. Lives depend upon it.

Today, Merlin doesn't want to know that there isn't a cloud in the sky, that the leaves are pale green and the grass a few shades deeper, and the wind is out of the west, that the Herefordshire countryside is as exquisite a piece of England as ever. He may be able to walk, but the sky is forever denied to him now.

Self-pity is a terrible trap and Merlin does his best to avoid it, but some days, the only way he can is by keeping too busy to think about himself. He's been running Lancelot's mission in Marseilles for two weeks; she's finally been able to identify the leaders of the terrorist cell they've been tracking and he can’t afford to take more than the briefest breaks. He even takes his tablet into the loo with him and props it up on the urinal while he's taking a leak.

But Merlin is exhausted. He's in pain. He hates what he's become and he hates that he hates himself.

None of this should have happened, but it did. It had been his choice to back up Eggsy in Cambodia when Harry had been recovering from yet another experimental surgery and no other agent had been available. It had been his choice to push Eggsy off the landmine. He'd expected to die and considered the sacrifice well worth it. Eggsy is young and vital and important to the future of Kingsman. Merlin, well, he'd figured that he has lived a good life and has no regrets about anything, except leaving Harry behind.

But he hadn't died; he'd just lost both of his legs above the knees. When he'd awoken from a week of heavy sedation and had been told what had happened, Merlin had been happy to be alive. Technology can fix anything, right?

Wrong. Technology can give him state of the art prosthetics, but his body is still flesh and blood and nerves and bone. It's still fragile, still mortal. Still subject to infections and pressure sores and pain. And when he goes for ninety fucking hours without taking the damn fake legs off, he's going to pay for it.

But that doesn't matter while Lancelot is still trying to get a good kill shot at the leader of the French terrorist cell planning to blow up six mosques and three synagogues in Marseilles. Kingsman has found - at least for white, European-based organizations - that killing the head is the best way to scuttle plans, and a long-range kill shot can instill fear in a way that close-up murder rarely does. It suggests, quite rightfully, that the organization is under scrutiny by someone or something very high up the food chain. 

Assassination of any kind isn't this Lancelot's métier; she's brilliant at infiltration, at getting information out of an unsuspecting mark, at sowing the seeds of doubt and letting them grow like noxious weeds. It's just unfortunate that the situation has escalated so quickly; there isn’t enough time to send in either of Kingsman's two best snipers. Although Eggsy's just finished his mission, he's on a jet returning from Tokyo and won't make it to France before the terrorists are set to act. Percival, Kingsman's top-rated sniper, is in Dar al Salaam and can't be pulled from his assignment without compromising six months of work. The only other available agents don't have any better marksmanship skills than Lancelot, so there's no reason to replace her. 

No, it's going to be Lancelot and she's going to do the job because she has to. She is, after all, a Kingsman.

_"In position and waiting for target to appear."_ Her voice is clear through the comms, steady and confident.

"Copy that, Lancelot." Merlin checks the data from the portable weather station that Lancelot's set up on the rooftop. "Ye've got optimal conditions. At your level, the wind's at three kilometers an hour, coming from the south. Wind is nonexistent at ground level. You can take the shot as soon as you have visuals on the targets."

_"Copy and thank you."_

Merlin smiles at that. There are only two agents who consistently thank him: Lancelot and Galahad, and Merlin appreciates the courtesy. Although since Cambodia, Galahad's gratitude is tinged with desperation and guilt, and no matter how hard Merlin tries not to hear it, he does. He's told the lad that he doesn't regret the choice he made that day, but Galahad doesn't believe him. 

Not that Galahad pities him or does anything that would erase Merlin's agency, but there's a wall between them now and there's nothing Merlin can say or do to erase it. It's a debt that Eggsy - _Galahad_ \- will carry until he can bring himself to accept that what happened hadn't been his fault.

From the street level cameras that Lancelot had placed, Merlin sees that Simone-Marie Le Pape and her entourage have exited their headquarters. Le Pape is a particularly nasty piece of work and in a way, worse than the usual scum because of her gender. She's the daughter and granddaughter of French far right politicians and has the dubious distinction of being the first woman disavowed by her party for her ultra-extremist views, including openly advocating mass murder of non-white and non-Christian people living in France.

Her death might not spell the end of her movement, but it will put a halt to it for a while.

"Your target is on the ground and moving."

_"Copy."_

Merlin has outfitted Lancelot's sniper scope with the same cameras that are in Kingsman agents' glasses, so he sees what she sees. There is a moment - a heartbeat - where Le Pape is free from obstruction and before Merlin can tell Lancelot to take the shot, she does and the woman falls. To his surprise, Lancelot takes a second and third shot, killing the organization's two most senior deputies in the next moment.

"Very good. Nice show of initiative. Now get yerself to the extraction point. A car will be waiting for you."

Merlin lets the driver know that Lancelot is on her way and about seven minutes later, his agent exits a building four blocks from where three people had just been murdered. She's carrying a rather ordinary briefcase, which she'll leave in the back of the car. It's likely that they'll be a crackdown on people leaving France, even by private plane, so the driver will store the weapon for a period of time before returning it to Kingsman.

Lancelot's reached the extraction point and the driver pulls smoothly away from the curb, blending into a busy city's midday traffic. The mission is over, it's a success, and Merlin can turn the comms over to one of his many capable subordinates to manage Lancelot's extraction.

"Elaine, please continue to monitor Lancelot until she's back in home territory."

_"Will do, sir."_

Merlin can hear the question that Elaine does not ask, _Will you go home and take care of yourself now?"_. He will, but only after making his report to Arthur. 

Every step is a new kind of agony, and even standing still while waiting for the elevator to go just three flights up is an exercise in endurance. But when the door opens and Arthur's admin, Michael, is waiting for him with a wheelchair, Merlin wants to punch the bastard.

"Get that fucking thing out of my sight, you bleeding cunt."

Michael doesn't blink at the repulsive invective. "Arthur's authorized me to use all necessary force to put you in the chair."

"You and what fucking army?" On a good day, when he's well-rested, Merlin can still take out a dozen fighters without raising a sweat, even with the prosthetic legs. Actually, the things make damn good weapons. But he's exhausted and in pain and his snarl is the sound of a desperate and cornered dog.

He's hit with a knockout dart from an unexpected direction and before he hits the ground, he sees Arthur's raised arm and his god-damned poncy one-eye'd face.


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin wakes up abruptly, as if from a nightmare. The ceiling is white acoustic tile, the bed is uncomfortable, and the author of his current situation is sitting in the chair next to Merlin's bed and going through reports on his phone.

Or playing Candy Crush.

"I fucking hate you."

"I know." Harry's laconic reply says volumes, despite the paucity of words.

"I need to take a piss." Merlin's not going anywhere, not without his legs.

"That's not surprising. You've had about two thousand milliliters of fluid over the last ten hours. You were rather dangerously dehydrated." Harry hands him a urinal container and gives him some privacy.

Merlin relieves himself and takes stock of his condition. He's got an IV in his hand, but it's capped off - there's nothing being pumped into him right now. His stumps are bandaged, and to his dismay, Merlin can see pinkish fluid leaking through the gauze. His body aches and his head feels muzzy, like a combination of a bad beat down and a three-day bender. He's also, to his surprise, famished.

His wings are another matter. Harry’s sigil overlays his own, strengthening the binding. It’s a mate’s privilege and honor to merge sigils, but one that Merlin instinctively wants to reject. But common sense overrides instinct; he doesn’t have the strength to maintain his own binding and lying in a hospital bed on his back, on his wings, would be bloody uncomfortable.

Merlin flings back the curtain and finds that Harry's left the room. He presses the call button and a familiar face comes into his room. Dianne Whitacre, the Kingsman Chief Medical Officer, has been a colleague for the better part of two decades. Merlin can't count how many times he's consulted with her about injured agents. She'd also been the doctor in charge of his case since he returned from Cambodia. 

Today, she doesn't look like the cool and consummate professional he's known for so long. No, she looks aggravated and ready to spit nails. 

"What's the matter?"

"You have a lot of nerve asking me what's the matter? Do you have any clue how bad a shape you were in when Arthur brought you down here? Dehydrated - "

"I know - Harry told me I needed some fluids." Merlin glances at the nearly full plastic urinal hanging from the bed rail. "I've processed them out. Kidneys must still be working."

"You're lucky I didn't stick a catheter up your prick. Might still, if you don't behave."

"Ouch." It takes every ounce of Merlin's self-control not to cover his groin with his hands.

Dianne shakes her head and practically growls at him. "That's the least of it. You disregarded all of your medical instructions, you stubborn idiot. You wore your prosthetics continuously for so many days that gave yourself pressure sores, which became infected. Do you know how dangerous that is? You could have ended up with a deep tissue infection, which could easily have entered your bloodstream and killed you. I expect this behavior from that collection of self-sacrificing idiot children called agents, but not from you."

Merlin snaps back, "I have responsibilities. Agents are depending on me to do my job, no matter what."

"You also have a highly trained staff that can do a splendid job of handling any eventuality in the field. You are not a department of one, Merlin. There are - at any given time - two handlers for each active agent, but for some reason, you have refused to follow your own department's protocols. Ones that you wrote yourself."

"The situation was delicate. Lancelot was depending on me." Merlin knows that that's a weak excuse. Lancelot is flexible and accommodating, she's worked with half a dozen different handlers with great success. But for reasons he can't articulate, Merlin had attached himself to the Le Pape mission and had refused to let go, even when common sense told him he could be putting his agent at risk if he didn't stand down. 

Dianne sits in the chair that Harry had occupied. "We're worried about you. You are too smart to do this to yourself."

Merlin knows what's coming. "I don't have a death wish."

"Perhaps not, but I'm going to insist on a psych evaluation. You're going to be here for at least three more days - let's use the time to your advantage."

Merlin shrugs. "If you say so, Dianne." He hates the defeated tone in his voice, but he can't seem to keep up the jolly attitude.

The doctor reaches out and takes his hand. "I know what you've lost, Merlin."

He snatches his hand away and snarls, "I don't think you have any clue as to what I've lost. You still have your legs. You can still take to the air. My legs are gone, and for that, the sky is lost to me, too."

Dianne refuses to back down. "You're right, I don't know exactly what you're feeling because I've never experienced it, but I can empathize. And I'm surprised that you've given up the sky so easily. You're a brilliant engineer; surely there must be a solution - some way to compensate?"

Merlin sinks back into defeat. "No, the laws of physics work against me. If I'd kept my knees, it just might be possible, but the stress on my stumps during landing would be too great." Merlin's spend hundreds of hours with simulators, trying to find a way to fly and land without destroying himself. Legs that could withstand a landing are counter-aerodynamic, and those that would let him fly would be destroyed by the impact of landing. He could easily end up breaking his hips and spine.

Wing-kin are not birds, they don't have hollow bones and an airframe meant to withstand the stresses of takeoff and landing. They are freaks of nature, quasi-human, half-magical and all-impossible, but they _are_. Merlin had been blessed with wings, his parents thrilled at the silvery outline of feathers that had appeared on his back within hours of his birth. He'd been just fourteen when he'd taken his first flight - a solo endeavor off the highest tower in Edinburgh Castle - that earned him a "bloody well done, son" from his da and a whooping on his ass with the day's newspaper from his ma.

Every Kingsman, no matter what position they hold, are Wing-kin; even the tea boy at the shop can fly. Even the late and unlamented Chester King could take to the air, not that he did at any point in the years since he’d been made Arthur. 

Merlin misses the sky more than he misses his legs; on a normal day, the ache in his shoulders from wings that need the air is worse than any phantom pain from the lost legs. There is no spell or cantrip that can ease that ache, perhaps because there’s no reason why he can’t let his wings unfurl. But Merlin won’t, not if he can’t fly. Harry calls him a fucking stubborn Scot, but he doesn’t understand. Letting his wings out is a promise; that he will soar above the trees and ride the thermals, that he will _fly_. And Merlin never breaks his promises, even to himself.

The truth is that he probably can still fly, but he can’t get airborne and he can’t land, not without his own legs. In Cambodia, the doctors that had initially treated him had seen the wing marks on his back and when he’d barely come out of sedation, they’d asked why he simply hadn’t flown away, out of the range of the landmine. Eggsy, who’d remained at his side, resisting all efforts to recall him to HQ, had answered for him, his tone barely civil. “We ain’t fucking birds, mate. Just can’t take off like a bloody Harrier jet.”

Dianne clears her throat, recalling Merlin back to the present. “Sorry – you were saying?”

“I need to check your vitals. You should have woken from Arthur’s knock-out dart about twenty minutes after he shot you, but you stayed unconscious for over ten hours. You were running a fever and your blood pressure had dropped dangerously low until we got fluids into you. The antibiotics have helped, but you’ll need to stay on them for a few more days.”

Merlin submits to the standard medical routine – the blood pressure cuff and the pulse-ox meter, the ear thermometer (he’s grateful that Dianne doesn’t threaten to flip him over and take his temp like he’s an infant) – and everything comes back mostly normal.

“You still have a bit of a fever, but that’s to be expected. And your blood pressure is higher than I'd like, but there are medications for that.”

“So I’ll live.” Maybe a little humor would help.

“If I have anything to say about that, you will.” Dianne sighs and gives him a level stare. “You're on bed-rest for the next few days, and you will be off your legs until the sores completely heal, and that might be weeks.”

Merlin had been afraid of that. “You don’t have any magical healing gel? Nothing to speed the process?”

Dianne raises an elegant eyebrow. “Magical gel? The only magical gel I have is called Neosporin.”

“You know what I mean – something with nanites to knit everything back together? I’m pretty certain I saw a line for something like that on last year’s medical research budget.”

“Do I want to know how you got access to the Medical Department’s budget?” Dianne laughs. “Sorry, why would I even consider that Merlin wouldn’t hack into my department's funding allocation. I just hope you’ve kept your eyes off of the confidential medical records.”

Merlin doesn’t dignify that with an answer.

In the face of his silence, Dianne adds, “Even if I did have some kind of magical gel, I wouldn’t administer it. You need to rest and heal without any nonexistent nanites to accelerate the process, just so you can get back to your cave that much faster.”

Merlin has no intention of just resting. He’s equipped to run Kingsman’s systems from anywhere in the world, including a hospital bed. At least until Dianne throws a wrench into those plans.

“Arthur, on my advice, has locked you out of all Kingsman systems. He’s taken possession of your laptops and tablets and phones; your palm prints and retinal scans that give you access have been suspended until we jointly agree that you will not be risking your health by returning to work.”

Dianne looks at him and he can tell that she’s waiting for him to explode. But he doesn’t, he’s half-expected this and has planned accordingly.

“And don’t think about accessing the systems by any of the back doors you’ve created. There is nothing for you to do. Your staff has been fully briefed.”

“You're as clever as you're competent, Doctor.”

“At least you didn’t call me pretty.”

Merlin smiles, “You don’t need me to tell you that. But what you do need to tell me is what the hell I’m supposed to do with myself during this down time.” Honestly, Merlin can’t even remember the last time he took a vacation, at least one that didn’t include climbing to the top of the highest ridge in the Peak District, throwing himself into the air, and riding the thermals. He’s never been the kind of man who enjoys doing nothing.

“Surely there’s something you’ve wanted to do but have never found the time?”

“Can’t think of a bloody thing.” Merlin foresees a very stressful few weeks ahead of him. “Can I get my phone and tablet back? If I’m locked out of Kingsman systems, at least let me find some games to play.”

Dianne stands up. “I’ll talk to Arthur about that. If he’s all right with it, I’ll see that they’re returned to you, with restrictions.”

“Fair enough.” Even if Arthur doesn’t give his consent, Merlin can still make use of off-the-shelf units.

“I’ll have a meal sent up – anything in particular you’d like?”

“I don’t suppose an order of KFC is on the menu?”

Dianne just gives him the stink-eye.

“Scrambled eggs, some smoked salmon, and rye toast.”

“That we can manage.” Dianne leaves with the promise that his meal will arrive shortly.

Merlin’s left alone and he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like having nothing to do but think. Endless minutes later, someone knocks on the door and Merlin assumes it’s the lunch trolley. It is, but it’s not being pushed by some anonymous orderly. Eggsy wheeling it in with a smile.

“Heard you were sick, and now on the mend.” Eggsy pulls over the hospital table and sets up the meal.

“I’ve been better, and worse.”

The lad drops into the visitor’s chair. “You’re looking pretty decent. I think you’re faking it.”

“I just might be.” Merlin tucks into the eggs, and like all food served at HQ, they are pretty fucking good. “Want to help me escape?”

“Can you guarantee that Arthur won’t fire me for breaking you out?” 

That's a fair question. “Since I can’t run the recruits from a sick bed and not even Arthur would dream of having someone else do that job, I can only promise that you won’t be permanently replaced, but not that you won't be suspended.”

Eggsy makes a face. “So maybe you should stay put, bruv. Wait ‘til the docs sign off on your release. Ain’t that what you’ve told me the half-dozen times I’ve been laid up? That the quacks know what they’re doing and I need to listen to ‘em?”

“I think that’s called being hoisted by my own petard.”

“That sounds vaguely dirty.” 

Merlin sighs and starts to explain, “A petard is – ”

Eggsy waves him off. “Know what a petard is – I ain’t an ignorant chav anymore.”

“Laddie, you were never an ignorant chav.”

Eggsy winks at him, leans close and whispers, “Shhh, don’t tell anyone that.” 

Merlin gets the full Eggsy effect; the aroma of a freshly pressed shirt, warm wool, expensive cologne, coupled with an irresistible smile makes feels a bit the way he used to when he'd gotten up close and personal with Harry in the early days – like he can conquer the whole fucking world.

_Ah, but a man can dream, can't he?_

While he eats, Eggsy keeps up a light conversational patter, filling him in on some gossip that the staff had shared with him. Eggsy isn't quite universally loved - some of the older agents, those of the Chester King mold - find him a bit brash. But there isn't a single member of the vast Kingsman support network who doesn't outright adore the new Galahad. 

With good reason. 

Eggsy knows everyone's name; he knows their spouses' names and their children's names. Probably even their parents' and grandparents' and pets' names. He treats everyone with the highest degree of courtesy, but he's not the least bit condescending. The high stickers at the Table might say it's because Eggsy's little better than servant class himself, and the lad might even agree. But the truth of it is that Eggsy is nice to people because that's who he is - a good person who treats others how he wants to be treated, with kindness and respect. That it often crosses the line into friendliness is not surprising. To use modern parlance, Eggsy Unwin's the human equivalent of a Golden Retriever puppy.

"So, did you hear about Quincy and Bors' Irish Setter bitch?" Quincy is Lancelot's Standard Poodle.

Merlin swallows the last bite of toast and says, "No, but somehow, I know where this is going."

Eggsy grins and nods. "Yup. Roxy's going to be a grandmother. Bors isn't happy."

Merlin sighs. "I do wish it was mandatory that agents' dogs get fixed."

"JB got his balls cut off. Woke to him humping my hand one too many times."

Merlin almost chokes on his tea. "Even once is one too many times."

Eggsy just grins. "Saw your doc on the way in. She read me the riot act about not letting you have access to your devices. I'm not to let you importune me in any way, shape or form. I need to be above bribery, as pure and stainless as Caesar's wife, blah, blah, blah. You need your rest. The way she went on, I thought she was going to go into that musical number with Madeline Kahn from _Blazin' Saddles_ or something."

"Eggsy, you're too young to know about _Blazing Saddles_."

"Nah. It's a classic. I like classics." Eggsy gets a conspiratorial look on his face. "I'm figuring though, that you're probably going to go out of your mind if you don't have anything to do."

"And what do you propose?"

"How about I get you a phone from Fitting Room Three? Last time I was in there, it had been restocked with the sweet new models. You - Merlin of Kingsman - can probably activate it with your eyes closed. Even if they've locked you out of your own network."

Merlin feels a surging swell of gratitude. "Eggsy, I'll give you my right nut if you get a phone for me."

That might have been the wrong thing to say, because Eggsy's expression turns grim. "Isn't it enough that you've already given both your legs for me?"

"Lad - "

"Merlin, I know why you did what you did and I'll forever be grateful for your stupid sacrifice. But it's hard to accept it if you're going to do your best to kill yourself through neglect and carelessness."

"I thought we were talking about you getting me a phone from Fitting Room Three, not you giving me shite about something that can't be changed."

Eggsy huffs out a sigh. "Yeah, we were. And I'll still get one for you, but you got to do something for me in exchange. And I don't mean putting your left nut into a pretty blue gift box and tied with a perfect bow."

They both smile, but the good mood isn't fully restored. "Nothing comes without a price, lad?"

"Yeah, I guess you can say that."

"Then what do you want from me?" Merlin envisions something along the lines of a promise to take better care of himself, something worthy and very Eggsy-like.

"I want you to promise to let me help you figure out a way for you to fly again."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	3. Chapter 3

Merlin works hard to keep a rein on his temper and grinds out, "I just had this conversation with the doctor. It's not possible."

Eggsy doesn’t seem to see Merlin’s anger. "If there's one thing you've taught me, it's that nothing's impossible. A chav can kill a king and still become a knight."

"He can even bum a princess. Or try. Good thing her royal highness of Sweden doesn't travel anywhere without her collection of sex toys and an inexhaustible supply of lube." Merlin can’t help being a bit snarky.

"You're never going to let me live that down, are you, Merls?" Eggsy's turned an interesting shade of bright red.

"Not if you keep calling me by that horrible nickname."

"Stop deflecting. If you don't want to die of boredom, you'll let me help you."

"I can probably get Lancelot to give me a phone."

"She's back in Marseilles. Le Pape's organization reached out to her cover, they want to know if she's interested in a leadership position. And she told me to tell you that if you don't follow the doc's orders, she'll make sure that your entire collection of John Denver first edition albums gets warped, whatever that means."

Merlin doesn't even know how Lancelot knows about his love for John Denver's music and the vintage medium he adores. "It means that Roxanne Morton is a woman to be feared."

"Let me help you. You're a brilliant engineer, but you think linear engineer-y thoughts - one plus one always equals two. I'm not like that."

"No, Eggsy, you're not. You're a fucking chaos machine and too much like Harry for my peace of mind." It's why the lad broke a two-way mirror with his bare fist rather than use the loo snorkels. It's why Eggsy could think of using Valentine's chips to explode the heads of hundreds of luminaries and world leaders. It's why Eggsy Unwin can come out of a shite mission smelling like the Queen's rose garden. And maybe it's why the lad legitimately believes he can help Merlin regain the sky.

"So you'll let me help?"

"You're going to let me die of boredom if I don't say yes, right?"

Eggsy's grin could power the City of London, including The Gherkin. "Fucking aces, Merls."

Merlin ignores the nickname. "What are your thoughts?"

"In gymnastics, one of the first things you learn how to do is fall. Then you learn how to land. Thinking that some of those lessons would help you. I know that they helped me the first time I took flight and had to come back to earth."

Merlin has never asked Eggsy about his first flight; it's generally considered rude and intrusive outside of the mate-bond; he has to imagine that being Wing-kin in the Estates hadn't been an easy thing. "I'm not a gymnast and without my legs, it's kind of hard to even imagine doing what you do."

"You've got more upper body strength than most gymnasts, and that's saying a lot. I'd say we start with that, with the rings and you learning how to fall. And maybe some trapeze work."

"Trapeze, as in a circus act?"

"Exactly! You'll be flying with a net, which is just what you need."

Merlin can actually see the sense in what Eggsy's saying. It approaches the physics of the problem from a completely different tack. But Merlin's not ready to give into Eggsy's plans just yet and he throws up a few roadblocks. "Don't exactly see Arthur setting up a big top on the back lawn."

"No, Harry's already told me he's not going to ruin the view out his office window. But don't worry; Harry said that Kingsman owns a lot of acreage, including some pasturage on the other side of the tree-line, away from the mansion and out of sight of the village. It's the perfect spot to build a fucking huge geodesic dome, like something out of one of those cheesy 1970s sci-fi shows. It'll be aces - three stories tall and no internal supports to interfere with flying - "

It takes a few seconds until everything clicks. "Harry? He told you that it's okay to build a fucking geodesic dome in the sheep pasture?"

Eggsy bites his lip and has the grace to look slightly ashamed. "Yeah. Harry and I talked about it. 'Bout you. How it's a terrible thing that you can't fly even though there ain't nothing wrong with your wings. Just your legs. He's already signed off on the plans."

"So the whole thing with the phone was a set-up?"

"Nope. Haz and I have been figuring out how to make this work for a few months. You working yourself into a hospital bed's only accelerated things. And bought me a way in."

Merlin doesn't know what to feel. He wants to be infuriated, but Eggsy's ideas are good ones; they make sense in a way that nothing else has since he realized that the sky would be denied to him. "You mean to tell me that Arthur's signed off on spending a million quid to build a dome so his feckin' quartermaster could try to fly again?"

"Basically, yeah." Eggsy gets a deadly serious look on his face. "He'd do it for any member of Kingsman, you know that. And he'd do it ten times over for you. He loves you like nothing else in this world. He'd give his legs to you if - " Eggsy pauses and takes a panting breath, "if it would mean you'd be happy again. He misses you; he misses you worse than you missed him after Kentucky. Because you're still here and not dead."

Merlin wants to be angry at Eggsy for putting himself in the middle of his relationship with Harry, but he can't. The lad loves Harry, he cares about Merlin himself - perhaps too much - and it's his nature to need the people around him to be happy.

Eggsy pulls his chair closer to Merlin's bedside, eager to go over his ideas. He takes out his tablet and shows Merlin the plans for the dome, a project that has clearly been underway for quite a while.

"How long, lad?"

"What do you mean, how long?"

"How long have you and Harry and who knows who else have been working on this? Ye've got reports from land surveyors, materials specs, full drawings from architects, even a bloody waiver from the village council. This shite takes months to accomplish."

Eggsy shrugs and just says - in that damn too-innocent tone of his, "Months, I guess."

"If I went to the north pasture, what might I find?"

"A concrete slab, piers and footings, electrical and plumbing drawn in from the mansion. We're about two weeks from starting construction."

"It's a very impressive thing you and Arthur have pulled off." Merlin takes a deep breath and once again tries to keep control of his temper.

This time Eggsy sees his distress. "You’re angry, Merls. Why?"

"How can you tell?"

"Well, other than how white you've gone around the lips, you don't call Harry 'Arthur' in an informal setting unless you're pissed at him."

Merlin leans back against the pillows. "Very observant, Eggsy. Proud of you."

"Thanks, but you haven't told me why you're pissed off at Harry. And I'm thinking that you're pissed off at me, too."

"I am, and I know I shouldn't be, not at you. Harry, though, he's earned it."

"But why? Because we're trying to figure out how to make things better? We know you can't be fixed - not that you're really even broken. Just different."

Merlin sighs at Eggsy’s modern and politically correct wording. Eggsy’s trying so hard, but the damage done doesn’t make Merlin different - it makes him broken.

Eggsy misinterprets Merlin’s reaction and backtracks. "What I'm trying to say is that I know things can't go back to what they'd once been, and you hate that you can't fly anymore, so why would you be unhappy that Harry and I are doing what we can to help you help yourself?"

"It's not really that. Harry and I are going to have a Come to Jesus moment very soon, about a lot of things, but I'm not pissed that you're trying to help me. I'm pissed that you and Harry managed to do all of this - the surveys, the materials, the architects, without me bloody knowing a thing about it. I'm Merlin, I'm the goddamn fucking Quartermaster of Kingsman. I am supposed to know everything that's going on, and from the looks of it, you've managed to bring in workers, level an acre of field, pour a thousand square meters of concrete, pull in electrical and plumbing services - in other words, undertake a major building project - right under my nose!"

Eggsy leans back, tucks his hands behind his head, and smiles like a self-satisfied prick. "I bet Harry a hundred quid that you'd have a cow when you found out. Harry said you'd be moved to violence but you'd never show just how pissed you actually were. I think I've won. And just to show that I'm a good egg, I'll throw fifty quid back at you."

Merlin sees red. "You think it's a joke? You and Harry doing an end run around Kingsman security? I should move to have the both of you thrown out."

"Relax, Merls. No one did any end-runs round anything. We worked with Morgana and all of the firms were put through the same security protocols that Kingsman uses for any outside vendor. Morgana ran the budget - which is something you'd delegated to her a while ago. Facilities also signed off on the work - they did all of the plumbing and power runs. Turns out that there's a data backup center about a five hundred meters north of the building site, so there's already power and water out that far. We didn't have to dig new trenching, just pulled fresh lines alongside the existing ones."

The fact that Harry and Eggsy have done things by the books somehow makes him angrier. "This still isn't right. I don't like that you're keeping me out of the loop."

"Merlin, you wouldn't have wanted any part of this if we gave you the choice. It's a fait accompli. You do have a choice about using what's being built for you, but Harry needed to do this for you. You've shut him out."

Merlin so desperately wants to snap back at Eggsy, to tell him to shut up, that he knows nothing and shouldn't stick is nose where it doesn't belong. But the lad means well, he wants Merlin and Harry to be happy, regardless of the cost and Merlin isn't a cruel man, despite how he's treated Harry since he's come home from Cambodia minus his legs.

"I'm tired, Eggsy. I think I need to sleep."

"In other words, you want me gone."

Merlin sighs, "For a while, if you please."

Eggsy pulls something out of his breast pocket; it's a cell phone. "It's my Kingsman spare - so you'll have to use your admin password to unlock it. Call me if you need anything." Eggsy pulls out a cord and small charger and puts them on the bedside table. "You'll need this, eventually." 

With that, Eggsy leaves, the door shutting softly behind him.

Merlin hadn't been lying when he'd told Eggsy he's tired. He hits the call button and when the nurse arrives, Merlin asks for something to help him sleep. It doesn't take long for the young man to come back with a mild sedative - Dianne had left orders - and Merlin drifts off shortly after taking the pill.

If he dreams, he doesn't remember.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	4. Chapter 4

For the better part of the next three days, Merlin is left mostly to his own devices. Harry doesn't visit, Eggsy doesn't visit. None of his staff come by. None of the other agents, either. The only person he sees for at any length of time is the Kingsman psychiatrist, Helena Lim. When Dianne does deign to provide some medical attention, Merlin swallows his pride and asks if she knows where everyone is.

"You are supposed to be recovering from a rather unpleasant infection. People popping in and out don't help with that."

"Arthur and Galahad were here the day after I'd been brought in."

"I couldn't keep Arthur out if I tried. As for Galahad, he'd bribed the orderly who had been bringing your meal. If he steps foot in your room without clearance again, I'll see that he's suspended from Kingsman. You are here to recover, not to be bothered by people who have no concept of boundaries."

"Dianne, I'm not an invalid. Lying here with nothing to do but watch crap telly is very stressful."

"I hate to break it to you, but you are an invalid, Merlin. And don't tell me that the phone that Galahad gave you isn't entertainment enough." 

"If you knew about it, why didn't you confiscate it?"

"Because I'm trying to treat you like an adult, not a naughty child. If you've tried to access your work files, you have to know that you're locked out."

"I can't play games and read all day long."

"Yes, actually, you can. Besides, Helena’s been in to see you every day." 

Dianne doesn't ask if he's actually talked with the Kingsman psychiatrist. He has, in fits and starts, but he doesn't feel like he's making any progress with anything. Not that he really needs to talk to a psychiatrist. 

"That's an hour, what about the other twenty-three a day that I need to fill."

"You're lonely."

It takes some effort, but Merlin admits to it. "A wee bit. I'm not accustomed to doing nothing, to being isolated like this."

"Harry's been here every night. He arrives around eleven, leaves at five."

 _And I've been taking sleeping pills every damn night, so I'm completely unaware of anything that's going on outside of my own brain._ Merlin had been taking the pills for easier access to oblivion and a respite from the boredom. It's a slippery slope, one he doesn't intend to slide down when he's finally out of medical. If he ever gets out of medical. "Cancel the order for sedatives. I'd rather stay awake than get so knocked out I don't know if anyone's in the room."

Dianne makes a note on her tablet. "I need to take a look at your stumps." She doesn't wait for his assent and pulls back the sheet.

"The dressings were changed this morning, and it looks like the sores are almost all healed."

Dianne does her own examination, rewraps his stumps and covers him back up. "Yes, they are. But the new skin is still tender and I'm not ready to let you back onto your legs just so you can end up right back here."

"How much longer am I stuck here?"

"Did you ever reconfigure your living quarters, Merlin?"

Dianne's not talking about his quarters here at the mansion. "I've moved, found a new place right after I got out of the hospital. It has all of the accommodations necessary for someone with severely limited mobility." Truth be told, Merlin doesn't like his new flat; it's all shiny polished marble and open spaces – perfect for rolling along in a wheelchair or humping away on his prosthetics – and he can live there by himself. He doesn't want to think about Harry's offer to sell the mews house in Kensington and move in with him. For nearly thirty years, they've maintained their own nests, and the only reason Merlin could think of why Harry would suggest the change is because he doesn't think Merlin can live on his own.

"If I let you go home, will you follow my orders and stay off your legs?"

Merlin nods. This time in the hospital has frightened him, given him a glimpse of a future where he's not only denied the sky, but everything else in his life that has meaning. If he wants to be something of the man he'd once been, he'll have to play by the rules. "You have my word on it."

"All right. I'll release you tomorrow."

"Why not now?"

"Because I'm releasing you tomorrow, that's why." Dianne gives him a hard stare. "I'll have the discharge papers ready for you for ten AM. And someone will be here to take you home and make sure that you have everything you need."

"I don't need a babysitter."

"No, but I'll bet that you don't have anything edible in your refrigerator, that your laundry hasn't been done. And wouldn't it be nice to get into a bed made with clean linens? When you were brought in, you had been here for nine days straight."

Merlin flushes a dark red at the reminder. Unlike most agents and senior staff, Merlin doesn't let any of the Kingsman housekeepers into his flat. He prefers to shift for himself - and always has - even before Cambodia. "Understood."

Dianne smiles. "Agent Galahad has already volunteered to take you home tomorrow and see you settled. I believe he'd won the coin toss with Arthur. I've given him clearance to visit during the dinner hour tonight; if you want him to bring you anything, you could let him know then."

Merlin thinks he'd like some clean clothes - which Eggsy could get from his quarters here at HQ - everything else can wait. But he does have a few questions, most importantly, "How long am I on forced medical leave?"

"You sound like an agent, Merlin. Already far too anxious to get back to work."

"There's no reason I can't perform my duties from a - " Merlin makes a face, the word is sour on his tongue, "wheelchair."

"I'm more concerned about your overall health and well-being right now. Rushing back to the stresses of the job will be counter-productive. Your blood pressure is still on the high side, but not dangerously so. That can change with the circumstances - you are in an extremely high-stress job, and you don't exactly have a low-key personality."

Merlin understands that all too well. Before Cambodia, he'd go to the highest part of the rooftop, take off his shirt and throw himself into the air; flying had a way of erasing the stresses of the job. But he can't fly anymore and he hasn't allowed himself to find other ways to relieve the stress. 

Maybe swimming? But that wouldn't be a solitary activity - he'd need lifeguards and spotters and someone to help him out of the pool and back into a chair. Kingsman has a number of pools, including small ones that are accessible with ramps for agents and staff with reduced mobility, but none of those pools are designed for the type of exercise that Merlin wants, the mindless and repetitive exertion that an Olympic-sized pool could provide. 

_Although …_

Merlin smiles sourly at the thought of asking Harry for a few modifications to the main pool. Harry would do it, too. After all, he's spending God only knows how many thousands of pounds on a fucking geodesic dome on the off chance that it could help Merlin regain the skies.

Dianne notices his expression, "What's so amusing?"

Merlin shakes his head. "Nothing important." He sighs. "Is there any chance ye'll let Elaine and Morgana in to see me? If I'm going to be out for a while, I'd like to make sure that everything runs smoothly."

"I suppose you could argue that if I don't, you'll become stressed out."

"I suppose you could say that."

Dianne nods with visible reluctance. "I'll authorize it, but don't think of this as an end-run around your mandatory medical leave. You aren't going to monitor how your department is operating and you won't be the go-to if something goes wrong. You'll have to trust that the people you've picked will do their jobs."

The thing is, Merlin does trust his people. They are all brilliant and dedicated and able to operate independent of his oversight. He's a little worried that they'll find that they don't need him, that the Quartermaster's Office can work just fine without the Quartermaster. That his worst nightmare has come true, that Merlin is superfluous.

Dianne departs with the promise that she'll leave word with Morgana and Elaine that they can visit with him this afternoon. Merlin is almost childishly excited in anticipation, making notes on his contraband phone about all the things that need to be reviewed. And for the first time since Eggsy had given him the device, Merlin calls the lad.

_"Finally. I thought you'd ring me days ago, demanding that I find a way to get your clipboard to you."_

"And hello to you, too." Merlin's a little surprised at himself, as well. If there's anyone at Kingsman who might have found a way to get his devices to him, it would be Eggsy.

_"How are you feeling, bruv?"_

"Decent. I've been told that I'm being released tomorrow."

_"Yeah, Doctor Whitacre told Harry that. I was in his office when she'd called. We flipped a coin on who gets the honors to take you home. I won."_

"You mean, you cheated."

_"Exactly. And Harry didn't call me on it, even though I saw that he saw me switch the coins. He's got a call with the Japanese that can't be postponed again, and that gave him a way out. But he was still kind of disappointed he’d lost."_

In truth, of the two of them, Merlin prefers that it's Eggsy that's going to take him home and get him situated. Harry would fuss and start making noises about moving in again, or some other such nonsense. He loves the man, but the thought of living with him makes Merlin's skin itch. It isn't that Harry’s tastes are fussier than anyone's maiden aunt; it's that Harry would hover, he'd try to help, he'd do everything he could to make Merlin's life easier. And in the process, rob him of his independence.

And yet, a part of him thinks he's overstating things and that he's using this as an excuse to keep Harry at a distance. But then, Harry hasn't pushed - accepting Merlin's decision to let their relationship die. After all, why would any Wing-kin stay with a legless, flightless mate except out of obligation?

_"You there, Merls?"_

"Sorry, Eggs, just thinking." Merlin can hear Eggsy's huff of annoyance and maybe the lad finally understands how he feels when he calls him "Merls".

They chat for a few more minutes; Merlin asks him to pick up a fresh set of clothes from his quarters at the mansion and how to gain access to them and Eggsy teases him about booby-traps (there are a few, but none that would trigger unless Eggsy gets nosy and goes where he shouldn’t). Eventually, Eggsy tells him he needs to get going and that he'll see him around dinnertime. Merlin thinks he hears the rushing of wind, maybe even birdsong, and imagines that Eggsy's on the roof, shirtless, sun warming his skin, wings unfurled and ready to own the sky. 

Merlin's back and shoulders ache as his own wings fight with his skin and the need to emerge - at some point, Harry must have removed his sigil strengthening the binding spell. It takes more than a few deep breaths to get them to settle down. He fiddles with the mobile, playing a few games of chess before switching over to something more mindless, like Candy Crush. It's enough to pass the time until Elaine and Morgana arrive.

His two senior subordinates are delighted to see him; Morgana has brought a box of his favorite biscuits and Elaine has his tablet, although he's frustrated to find that he truly is locked out of the Kingsman network. Both women offer up their passwords, but Merlin knows better than to accept. Paranoid bastard that he is, Merlin's sure that either Dianne or Harry (or both of them) are monitoring this visit and will bring down the hammer on all three of them for such a flagrant disregard of orders. 

Merlin works through his list and is mostly satisfied with the answers he gets. Elaine and Morgana do have a few questions for him, mostly high-level issues that he's reluctant to delegate, but has no choice now. 

After they leave, Eggsy arrives, along with the dinner trolley and the clothes Merlin had asked for. He makes it clear he doesn't want to talk about Eggsy's ideas or Harry's construction plans or anything that has to do with flying, not when he can smell the wind and sun on Eggsy like an expensive brand of cologne. But the do talk, about mundane things - how his sister is doing, his mother, how much he loves being Galahad but sometimes he feels like he'll never live up to everyone's expectations and the legacy Harry's left behind.

"You're doing a splendid job - you don't need me to tell you that. You are leagues ahead of Harry when he was where you are now."

"Harry never got the quartermaster blown up." Eggsy looks down at his hands and frowns.

"Eggsy - "

Eggsy shakes his head. "We never talk about it. You always cut me off, tell me it's not my fault, that it could easily have been you that stepped on the landmine first."

"I don't want to talk about what happened because talking isn't going to change things - not your foot on the mine or my decision to push you off to take your place. And I wish you wouldn't blame yourself. It only makes it harder for me. I would have done the same thing for any agent - but especially for you, or for Lancelot. You two are the future of Kingsman and I'll be damned if I let anything happen to you."

Eggsy looks like he's about to cry - something he's rarely seen. Not even at Harry's premature funeral, not when he'd stuck by his bed in Cambodia when Merlin had been too medicated to have any say in his treatment, not even when Eggsy's Swedish princess had married a Monegasque royal.

"Lad - it's all right."

"I wish I could believe you." Eggsy looks at him with damp eyes that spill over. 

"Would you rather I get angry at you? That I treat you like shite for something you had no way of stopping? You didn't see the mine; there was no way of knowing it was there. It happened, you need to forgive yerself otherwise … "

"Otherwise what?"

"Ye'll end up like me - alone and bitter and loathing yourself about things you can't change." The admission is painful, but he feels a deep relief at letting the feelings out. Eggsy looks shattered at those words and Merlin wants to comfort him. He reaches out and pulls Eggsy close. Merlin cups the back of Eggsy's skull, threading his fingers through his hair. Eggsy doesn't sob, but Merlin can feel the heat and dampness of Eggsy's tears through the sheet.

"It's all right, Eggsy. We'll get through this." He strokes Eggsy's hair, soothing him.

Soon enough, Eggsy lifts his head. "Sorry, Merlin. I shouldn't have lost control like that."

"Please, lad, don't apologize. I may need to return the favor soon enough. I have a feeling that once we get started, you're going to see me behave in some very ugly ways."

Eggsy just nods. He reclaims his seat on the visitor's chair and they finally talk a bit about the building, about how Eggsy thinks his gymnastics training might help Merlin with getting airborne and landing. It had been obvious from their conversation days ago that Eggsy has been giving this a lot of thought, and Merlin's even more impressed now. It's not until Merlin lets out a tremendous yawn do they both realize how late it is. 

"Doctor Whitacre is going to kill me when she finds out I've been here for so long. Was just supposed to drop off your clothes for tomorrow, not weep on your shoulder."

Merlin figures Dianne already knows, but just says, "It's our secret."

Then Eggsy does the unthinkable and brushes a brief kiss on Merlin's cheek before telling him he'll see him bright and early tomorrow morning and disappearing out the door.

Merlin stares at the door, not quite sure what had just happened. _That means nothing, you stupid berk. Eggsy's just an affection idiot._ Merlin keeps telling himself that, until he believes it.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	5. Chapter 5

A few hours later, when a nurse comes in with his evening meds, Merlin says, "I told Doctor Whitacre that I don't want any sedatives."

The nurse checks the orders and confirms, "No, no sedatives. Just your antibiotics and blood pressure medications."

Merlin takes the pills and wills himself to relax, to let sleep come to him naturally. It's not an easy thing to let go, but he's had decades of experience cat-napping in his office while sitting in an uncomfortable chair, so it should be easy in a bed, with the lights dim, the room quiet. Actually, it's a bit of a fight, but sleep does come. It's not restful, though. Without the aid of a sedative, Merlin has vivid and terrible dreams - of flying over the jungle and getting shot down, of being held captive with Eggsy and watching as their captors forced-fed the lad drugs that call out his wings, only to have them tear the feathers from them and the skin cauterized so they'll never grow back, of seeing Harry die again, but not from a bullet to the brain, but by Gazelle using those terrible prosthetics to slice off Harry's wings and he bleeds out. 

He wakes with a scream, but finds that he's not alone. Harry's there. "Here, let me turn on a light." 

The light reveals a Harry that Merlin rarely sees. His wing-mate is disheveled, hair in disarray, dark circles under his eyes, an unattractive bagginess under his chin - as if Harry’s lost weight from an illness. Merlin feels like this is his fault. He clears his throat. "I thought you had a call with the Japanese."

"That's later this morning." Harry hands him a cup of water, which Merlin takes with unspoken gratitude.

He drinks and swallows and drinks some more, and his head clears. "What time is it?"

"A little after two AM."

"Shouldn't you be home, in your own bed?"

Harry looks at him and there's so much sadness in his expression. "Not while you're here, Adam. Not on the off chance that you'll wake up and need me."

"I've been taking a sleeping pill every night - except tonight. That’s why I’ve been unconscious when you’ve been here."

"I know - Dianne's told me. I'd been worried that you were so still. You'd always been such a restless sleeper."

"That's why we never moved in together, I was always afraid I'd keep you up with my tossing and turning."

"I think you were afraid of a lot more than disturbing my rest." 

"Harry - "

Harry sighs and the sound is one of unutterably weariness. "I know, I know, there's no point in going over old ground. You've always needed your distance and wanted privacy for your own nest. I've always been too much work - a fucking drama queen with the decorating taste of an Edwardian dowager."

"Harry – " Merlin can't figure out what to say to stop the impending train wreck. 

Harry doesn’t stop. "We need to figure out how to end this."

Merlin's mouth drops open in shock. After so long, after everything, Harry wants to end them? But if that's what Harry wants, Merlin's not going to fight him. "If that's what you want, Harry."

Harry loses his temper at last. "No, Adam, it's not what I fucking want. But I wait and wait and wait for you to give me some hint that you feel anything for me anymore, that I'm not some half-blind burden for you to carry."

"Excuse me? You're the burden? I'm the cripple. I'm the one without legs. I'm the one who can't fly anymore." Merlin's practically shouting by the end of that.

Harry just stares at him, his face cold and expressionless. Merlin knows that face; it's the one that belongs to Kingsman's most decorated assassin. He's seen it out in the field, on occasion when Harry's paused in front of a mirror while on the way to terminate a life, or when he's working with another agent – and through that agent's glasses. He's never seen it directed at him and he knows he's just crossed a line.

"I've never considered you a burden, Harry."

"Then what am I to you, Adam?" The question is achingly sincere.

Merlin hates how Harry keeps using his real name, drawing a perimeter around what is personal and what is Kingsman. Merlin's always preferred the blurred lines, if just because Kingsman is his priority. "You shouldn't have to ask me that."

"And you should stop with the deflecting and answer the fucking question." Harry's expression doesn't change and his voice is equally cold.

Merlin scrambles and pushes back. "I don't think – after all this time – that you really need me to answer that."

"We're done, aren't we? That's what you don't want to say? You’d rather I do the dirty work, after all, it’s what I’m good at. Ending lives, ending relationships. And that maybe, for thirty years, we never actually _were_ anything. I thought we were wing mates, but really, I guess all I ever was to you was someone who was a convenient scratching post."

"No, Harry – not at all. It was never that at all." The denial is immediate and heartfelt. Now that things have come to a head, Merlin panics at the thought of a life without his wing-mate. 

But Harry just shakes his head, rejection Merlin’s avowal. "I think you've made your feelings for me, or the lack thereof, quite clear."

"I don't know what to say that can make you believe me. That you're wrong about how I feel about us."

"Then let me give you a few hints. Try 'I love you, Harry.' Or maybe 'I need you, Harry.' If that's too much, I'll settle for 'I want to be your wing-mate forever and finally build a nest with you, Harry.' Pick one. Tick a box. Give me a reason to hope."

Merlin opens his mouth to say something, to give Harry what he wants. But he can't. Instead, he does what he always does, he takes refuge in anger. "How dare you? How dare you drop this on me now?"

"Now, as it you're in a hospital bed? Or now, because you've just woken up?"

"Both. Neither. I don't know. This just seems massively unfair."

"How about how unfair it is that you dodge me whenever I try to have some time with you outside of our roles as Arthur and Merlin. You've rejected every invitation I've issued. You're too busy. You're too tired. You need some space and time. Well, you can have all of the space and time that you need, Adam."

Harry's voice cracks as he loses his composure. "Yes, I'm a shit heel for dropping this on you now, I know that. But I can't keep holding back on the hopes that you'll change. Or that I'll change."

Merlin reaches out for Harry, and to his relief, Harry takes his hand. "I do love ye." Merlin's accent slips. "But I don't think I can give ye what ye want from me. Not now. I don't want us to be done, but I don't think I can change who I am." The admission hurts and Merlin lets go of Harry. "Maybe it's all for the best for both of us. Healthier. Ye can move forward, enjoy the rest of yer life."

Harry looks like he's just swallowed a lemon. "And what about you? Are you going to move forward, too?"

Merlin can't help but feel the ghost of Eggsy's kiss on his cheek. "I think that I want to try to fly again. I understand that you've authorized Kingsman to spend a lot of money to try and make that possible."

"Yes, because apparently I really, truly hate you." And with that, Harry is the man he's known for decades, dryly witty, in a way that only a well-bred Englishman can be.

"I'm an ass, aren't I? You and the lad are far too generous. You're making me feel like I'm the worst sort of person in the world."

"You are." Harry doesn't pull any punches, but his lips twitch upwards.

"Eggsy kissed me. On the cheek." Merlin doesn't know why he's telling Harry that.

"That boy has a way of making people think all kinds of forbidden thoughts."

"You, too?" A dark and deadly thought crosses Merlin's mind. "Is that why you're putting an end to us?"

"Yes, of course it is. I am naturally enthralled by his perfect ass, his killer thighs, that six-pack tight enough to bounce a two-pound coin off of." Harry's sarcasm is thick as figgy pudding. 

Merlin has to add, "Not to mention his intelligence, loyalty, commitment, the way he handles a gun and defuses bombs. That jawline is his second best feature, though. Only surpassed by his thighs."

"Better than his cock?" Harry raises a skeptical eyebrow.

"How do you know I've seen his cock?"

"Jesus, Adam, you ran his recruitment cohort, of course I know that you'd seen him naked. You saw all the recruits without their clothes."

"I'd forgotten about that."

"So, you're saying that you've seen Eggsy naked since?"

"A few times – there was that honeypot in Vienna, and for a while, the lad had the habit of leaving his glasses on when he was taking a leak." Merlin grins. "I'm a dirty old man, I admit."

"I'll swap a bottle of Macallen Twenty for some stills, if you have them."

"Of course I have them." He gives Harry a curious look. "It doesn't bother you that I've ogled the lad?"

"Of all the things that you've done – or not done – you drooling over Eggsy doesn't concern me in the least."

Merlin finally gets a clue. "Because you've drooled, too?"

"Buckets' worth."

"Gallons, more likely. I know you, Harry Hart. You've never bothered to hide what turns you on."

Harry sits down on the edge of the bed, physically closer to Merlin than he’s been in months. "Adam, I love you. You are my wing-mate and I don’t want us to be over." He lets out a gusty sigh. "I’m as much responsible for this distance between us as you are. Since Cambodia, I’ve let you dictate the terms of our relationship because I’ve felt guilty - I was the one who put you in harm’s way. I didn’t want to push the issue because I didn’t want to find out that you blamed me for what happened."

Merlin is aghast. "How the hell could you think that? It was my choice - I volunteered to back Galahad up in Cambodia. And just as I told him, it was my decision to push him off the mine. I knew the risks, I accepted them. It never once crossed my mind to blame you."

"Then why wouldn’t you let me ever stay with you? Why did you shut me out? I love you, Adam, I wouldn’t have done anything you didn’t want, but you wouldn’t even give me a chance to ask."

Merlin shakes his head. "It’s hard to put into words."

"Try."

So Merlin does. "I didn’t want you to see me struggle, I didn’t want you to see me as less."

"Less than what?"

"Than the man I was. Less capable, less independent, weaker, needier. And it wasn’t even about you - it was about me." With those words, the epiphany comes. "I didn’t blame you. I didn’t blame Eggsy. But I blamed myself."

"Why?"

"For a million reasons. For not being better prepared. For being willing to die. For surviving. For crippling myself." Merlin lets out a shuddering sigh, too near to tears. "It’s easier being alone, Harry, than pretending everything will be all right. I didn’t want to chew you up. I thought that it would be better this way."

Harry leans over and kisses Merlin’s head, then leans his cheek against him. "I think I can take a little chewing, Adam. I wasn’t exactly at my best when you brought me back from Kentucky."

"You felt sorry for yourself for a day or so. But you snapped out of it and moved on. You threw yourself into cleaning up the mess Chester made of things and making sure that Kingman accepted Eggsy as your successor at the Table. You never seemed to falter. I wanted …"

"You wanted what?" Harry asks.

"To be like you - able to move forward as if nothing happened."  
Harry quickly corrects Merlin’s misconception. "I took down all the mirrors in the house, Adam. For a year, I couldn’t look at myself. I’m a vain peacock, and each time I saw that hole in my face would just about destroy me."

When Merlin had teased Harry about his request to hire a barber, Harry had merely replied that his hands shook too much to shave himself without creating a bloody mess. And besides, as Arthur, isn’t he allowed a perk or two? Now he feels like he’s been sucker punched. "I didn’t know - I’m sorry."

Harry shrugs. "I’ve faltered plenty and I still do. I make it a point of staring in a mirror every morning, without the eyepatch. I can now manage a full five minutes without vomiting. I know it’s nothing close to what you’ve lost, but I think I can understand what you’re going through."

Merlin stares at his hands and wonders when he had become so self-absorbed that he had never noticed Harry’s own pain. After Harry had been released from Kingsman medical, Merlin hadn’t spent any more time with him than he’d had before the disaster in Kentucky. Once Harry had been cleared from Medical, he and Merlin had focused on running Kingsman as a unit with a single purpose, instead of Merlin doing his best to subvert’s Chester’s pernicious influence. With Harry as Arthur and a house to clean, their work-day lives became busier than they’d ever been before. Their lives as wing-mates had diminished in many small, almost unnoticeable ways. Instead of spending most of their nights together in their quarters at the mansion because Merlin had always felt a little claustrophobic at Harry’s over-decorated mews house, Merlin would push Harry to go home, to have a life outside of HQ - but by himself. On the nights that Harry did insist on staying, they’d go for an evening flight to shake off the stress of running an intelligence operation, have enthusiastic sex, and Merlin would gently nudge Harry back to his own quarters if Harry didn’t leave on his own. Since Cambodia, they haven’t even had that.

"I’m surprised that you’ve put up with me at all. I’ve treated you like shite."

"I didn’t tell you that to make you feel bad. I told you because I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep your pain hidden. " Harry licks his lips. "I could have told you that I needed more than what you were giving me."

"Why didn’t you?"

Harry shrugs nonchalantly, but that’s simply pretense. "Because I’m an idiot? Because, like you, I didn’t want to seem needy or clingy or weak. I understand why you’ve pushed me away, but it’s time to stop."

Merlin doesn’t quite know how to respond and says nothing.

"I have to let Eggsy take you home, since I can’t put off the call with the Japan branch. But when it’s done, I’m delegating operations to Percival for the rest of the day and I’ll be moving in with you. I’m not going to hover or mother-hen you back to health, but I’ll be there to make sure you don’t do anything truly stupid. Until you’re back on your legs, and maybe for a while after that."

Merlin opens his mouth to protest.

"This is non-negotiable, Merlin."

Harry use of his code name in this context makes Merlin feel a bit weird, after Harry’s made it a point to call him Adam for the rest of the conversation. "Is this an order, _Arthur_?"

"Let’s call it 'executive fiat'. You are not only my wing-mate, but my second-in-command. And I know which of those two designations is more important to you."

Merlin winces. "You matter to me, Harry."

"But Kingsman comes first." That’s not a question.

"It always has had to, and I guess it always will."

Harry rubs Merlin’s back, pouring his strength and power into the binding and kisses his forehead. "I really should let you get some sleep. Dianne’s already signed the release orders so you’ll be able to go as soon as Eggsy comes to get you."

But Harry makes no attempt to get up and leave, which Merlin finds comforting. It’s been so damn long since he’s shared a bed with Harry. "Will you stay? Here, like this? For a little while?"

"Of course." Harry gets up just long enough to shed his jacket, waistcoat, tie, and shoes. Merlin scoots over to give his wing-mate space on the mattress and Harry lies down next to him. "Tell me that you haven’t embraced an ascetic lifestyle and sleep in a twin bed in your flat."

"No, it’s a respectable king-sized one, wide enough that I can roll over twice without falling off the other side."

"Good. It will be nice to share. Maybe we can play Marco Polo in the middle of the night." 

Merlin chuckles. He’s about to turn off the light when he realizes that Harry still has his glasses on.

"You can take them off. I have seen you without them."

Harry makes a face and sighs. "I was waiting for the room to go dark, but if you insist." He takes off the heavy frames and Merlin hopes he has control over his expression. Somehow, the scarring seems worse now, more sunken in. Maybe this is the result of too many failed surgeries.

"It’s disgusting, I know."

Merlin isn’t going to lie. "It’s pretty awful. And probably as bad as my stumps."

Harry smiles. "We’re a pair. A half-blind fool and his legless mate."

"Or maybe the legless fool and his half-blind mate." Merlin rubs his cheek against Harry’s shoulder. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For everything. For putting up with me, for not taking my bullshit and walking away. For everything you’re doing to help me get back the sky. For showing how much you love me even when I treat you like you’re dirt."

Harry leans up on one elbow and pressed the back of his hand against Merlin’s forehead. "Do I need to fetch Dianne? Are you feeling all right?"

Merlin gives Harry a light smack. "Almost thirty years and you finally get an apology out of me. You should be marking this date on a calendar rather than treating it like a joke." 

Harry just kisses him, the gesture light and fleeting and suddenly Merlin wants more than that. He threads his fingers through his wing mate’s thick, curly hair and holds him just _there_. Harry doesn’t protest and he gives Merlin just what he’s seeking - a kiss full of promise and intent, one that sings to the blood in Merlin’s veins, tugging at his hidden wings, flowing into his cock, awakening his soul.

Merlin clutches at Harry and feels Harry’s own response. He revels in it. _How could he have ever thought to let this go?_ Merlin slides a hand along the back of Harry’s neck, under Harry’s shirt collar to feel hot flesh and the even hotter burst of feathers that pop out from Harry’s skin as he loses control. Merlin feels the corresponding reaction in his own wings and breaks the kiss.

Harry’s still leaning over him, his face flushed with desire. He licks his lips and growls, "Wing-mate. Mine."

Merlin pants his response. "Yes, yours. And you are mine, wing-mate."

Harry nuzzles his cheek and whispers, "Always."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	6. Epilogue

The sun is almost too hot in the blue, cloudless sky, but it feels good on his skin. Merlin takes a deep breath and loosens the bindings on his wings. They emerge from his back and the sensation is almost orgasmic. The rising thermals caress his feathers like his wing-mate’s touch and Merlin revels in the sensation.

It would be easy to let the feelings swallow him whole, but today is the day he regains the sky. 

For months, he’s been learning new ways to use his body. The vast dome Harry had built for him had been equipped with trapeze equipment, and more importantly, nets. Lots of nets. In an interesting reversal of roles, Eggsy had been his trainer and an incredibly dedicated taskmaster. Merlin had spent weeks just learning how to fall.

Eggsy’s logic was sound; landing is just controlled falling after all. Merlin had started from a platform just a few meters off the ground, working his way up to nearly the top of the dome - almost sixty meters. Then they’d moved outside, where a lift had been built and nets spread across the lawn. The first time he’d sat on the edge of the hundred meter platform, about to throw himself off it, Merlin had almost pissed himself in terror. But he did it and the exhilaration was almost addictive. 

No, it _was_ addictive.

Eggsy and Harry had to physically hold him back after his fourth fall, and of course, all of the other agents at HQ had to try it for themselves.

Once he’d mastered falling on a grand scale, Eggsy started him on trapeze work, teaching him how to fly with just his arms - swing and catch and release. There had been a lot of falling, but the nets had caught him every time. It had been a slow process building strength. Merlin had always been strong, and he’d built up his upper body strength when he’s learned to walk with the prosthetics, but he’d quickly learned that the strength needed to maneuver his body is different from holding onto a trapeze bar or another set of arms swinging him through the air.

Two months of practice on the trapeze, flying out with just the momentum of his body and into Eggsy’s hands, then making a quick turn to catch his swing led to experiments with his wings, flying short distances and then longer ones. Then it was time to learn to fall again, this time with his wings out. Falling safely had been harder, figuring out how to tuck his wings or better, to bind them quicker than his rate of fall.

That had proven impossible, but eventually, Merlin had gotten the knack of landing in the net and rolling onto his side without fouling his wings.

Today, Eggsy and Harry have pronounced him fit to take a flight outside, to soar and then land on the acres of safety nets spread out on the Kingsman grounds.

Eggsy is standing behind him on the platform, Harry and a dozen other wing-kin are riding the thermals, waiting for Merlin to do what he’s been born to do, to do what he’d thought had been lost.

He scoots forward on the platform, bespoke leather trousers shielding his skin from the rough surface. He spreads his wings and pushes away, free-falling for one, two, three heartbeats before his wings unfurl and catch the air. They beat and he’s aloft, soaring free.

A shadow passes over him - it’s Eggsy, who had launched himself into the air right after Merlin. He’s wearing a harness with a trapeze swing - a safety for Merlin to catch in case everything goes wrong. The safety measure is unnecessary; Merlin is strong, his wings are rising and falling with an ease that had once been second nature and is again a rhythm as familiar as his heartbeat.

He flies along the path that Eggsy and Harry had laid out for him, it’s lined with nets to catch him if he tires. A part of Merlin wants to veer from this route, to soar over the gentle green hills of Herefordshire, to ride the thermals until the warm day starts to cool. But he’s not going to be so foolish, not for his first real flight. He sticks to the path and all too soon, he’s at the drop zone, a wide, unobstructed field covered in nets. Reluctantly, he starts his descent, dropping altitude until he’s about a hundred meters from the ground, angle his body as he’d practiced so many times and tucks in, falling into the waiting nets. Eggsy circles around, descending but not landing and Merlin reaches for the harness, clinging to it as Eggsy lifts him from the net and puts him on solid ground.

Doctor Whitacre comes rushing forward, trailed by two med-techs carrying his prosthetics. She checks his vitals, asks him a few questions but Merlin, can’t for the life of him, answer coherently. The endorphins are singing in his blood and all he wants is Harry. He twists around and Dianne admonishes him to remain still as the techs slide the liners onto his stumps and put the prosthetics on. Merlin gets to his feet in a rush and sees Harry striding towards him, shirtless, wings half-furled, and looking like every single one of Merlin’s best dreams.

"Adam." Harry says his name and the whole world falls away.

Merlin takes a deep breath and replies, "Wing-mate, I can fly."

Harry cups his hands around Merlin’s head and kisses him fiercely, like the winds on a high perch. "Yes, my wing-mate, you can fly."

__

FIN


End file.
